


The Healing of Lord Thranduil

by JackOlantern



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Elf Culture & Customs, Elvish, F/M, Healing, Hurt/Comfort, Injury, Partial Nudity, Slow Burn, Smut, Suspense
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-15
Updated: 2019-05-28
Packaged: 2020-01-14 12:22:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 13,779
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18476149
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JackOlantern/pseuds/JackOlantern
Summary: King Thranduil, your Lord has requested your aid as personal healer, by setting you an ultimatum- agree, or be banished. This is your story, how you discover deeper wounds that the king suffers from, and how you deal with working so tantalisingly close to the one Ellon you desire above all...





	1. The Royal Decree

**Author's Note:**

> A word of caution to begin with- I have only recently stumbled upon LOTR and the richness of material that it is surrounded by. I immediately fell in love, but it has only been a short relationship for me so far. I have read many comments on other Hobbit or LOTR stories, lamenting the incorrect use of elven language or misconceptions of elvish traditions. I apologize in advance for any irregularities, I always welcome constructive criticism, but most of all, I do hope you enjoy your story. 
> 
> A few notes regarding Sindarin, the elvish language of the Sindar, the wood elves: I have tried to keep the translations and interspersions of Elvish and English as organic as possible. So whenever there is a hyphon (-) after a word in italics, this means the direct English translation follows on from the Sindar. For the instances in which it would look or read unnatural, I  
> put the translations in chronological order at the beginning of each. 
> 
> I promise to update soon, and smut will definitely ensue in the later chapters! So if you are here for that, you might want to wait for more chapters :) Happy reading!

_mellon-_ friend

 _Aran Sindaron_ \- King of the Sindar elves

 _ellith and ellyn_ \- female elves and male elves

 _tithen pen-_ little one (endearingly)

 _Hîr Thranduil-nin-_ my Lord Thranduil

 _tawarwaith-_ (literally) forest-elves

 

 

‘You have all fought valiantly! Thus, you receive your King’s gratitude.’

You as well as all the other members of the guard bowed deeply before the King, gracefully bending at the waist. 

Having been part of the service for over a century now, you stood at the front with those of the senior and most highly respected ranks.

Nobody moved a further muscle. Like all warriors, you well knew that your love for your king and kingdom did naught to protect you from his sharp gaze and and occasional wrath- yet today was a day of celebration. The mission had been a trying one, and thus the return of your company had caused great exaltation. The ensuing festivities would continue long into the night.

Lord Thranduil proceeded to glide over the marble floor in front of you all, his best soldiers, eyes seemingly made up of seafoam and ice, taking in every bowed head before him.

‘Return to your chambers. Tend to your wounds, nurture your ailments, and fail not to return to your training tomorrow. _Dadwen_ \- Depart!’

With a swiftness you elves were renown to move, the entire hall was cleared out in under a minute. As you too were about to exit through the grand double doors however, two remaining guard elves stepped into your path.

‘Not you, _mellon_ ,’ spoke the one you recognized as Ôldaer, the slightest frown of concern replacing the usual stoic façade required for the doorkeepers to bear. Recognizing this as his way of conveying a message and thus his extraordinary sense of kinship to you, you bowed in gratitude.

‘What is it?’

Ôldaer shook his lovely head. ‘Thranduil, _Aran Sindaron_ desires an audience.’ His words he spoke past you, head held high and eyes now facing straight forward, yet the intonation of his voice betrayed something akin to worry.

Thanking the guards, you retreated your steps and returned again to the throne room. Your lithe footsteps echoed against the great marble halls as you swiftly proceeded to be seen before the King- an elf never hastened, merely responded to the call of duty in timely fashion. At least that is what you repeated to yourself in an attempt to instil calmness into your soul. Of course, much like the other ellith and ellyn, you loved and revered your ruler, serving him to the best of your ability and beyond. However to be singularly called before him in what unmistakably would prove to be a private audience... it bode unwell. Especially if the subtle fear for your person that shone in your guard friend’s eye was anything to consider.

When you entered the great hall, the remaining courtiers turned from their quiet, indistinctive conversations in unison, proud pale faces peering coldly at you. You let their looks glance off of you with a confident flip of your braid as you gingerly approached the gilded throne, bowing before its owner. Holding your breath, you felt trepidation and a sense of fear steal into your heart.

Why had you been called?

‘My Lord,’ you began, cursing your voice for betraying your shakiness, ‘I have heeded your summons, and place myself in your guiding council.’

As your insecurity heightened, you dropped your knees to the floor in a heightened display of respect towards your king, and also because the overwhelming presence of the man in front of you left you breathless. You could hear sharp intakes of breath from a few of the courtiers at your very obvious submission.

Elven court traditions and formalities had grown on you since had first entered the King’s service, and it gave you a sense of security, an expected framework you could act confidently within. The silence that prevailed however was almost too much to bear. You could feel his intense gaze boring into your bowed head, observing your kneeling form with mild interest. You clutched your robe gingerly, a weak attempt to still your trembling hands. Then he spoke, baritone voice filling the chambers with dulcet tones of honey and wine.

‘Why do you shake thus, _tithen pen_? What is it that frightens you so?’

Rather than calming your nerves, his soothing address only furthered your inner turmoil.

‘ _Hîr Thranduil-nin-_ My Lord,’ you replied, ‘standing alone in your presence would bring the proudest elf-soldier to their knees.’

Soft laughter filled your ears, the melodic sound reverberating within your chest as you seemed to have amused him.

‘So I see.’

The words sent a thrill of pride coursing through you. So, your reputation preceded you. Granted, your skill with the bow was formidable. Yet you far excelled in the art of healing, having quickly risen through the ranks. You glowed under his recognition- it was not every day your praises were sung by the king himself. You could not help but wonder though, if that was all he had intended to discuss. As if sensing your thoughts, you felt his smile recede infinitesimally and a preoccupation pervade his mind.

‘As it has been for many ages, you would know that we, the _tawarwaith,_ draw a clear distinction between those that take life, and those that preserve it. This is necessary, as the virtue in the matter of healing is naturally due to the abstaining from hunting or war. This is law and custom of the eldar, and I see it as my solemn duty as your King to uphold these regulations.’

His words hit you hard, albeit slowly, like bricks through a dark pool of water. Yet he was not finished.

‘This is why you have been called upon on this day. I have consulted with my advisors, and it has been unanimously agreed upon:’

Your vision of the marble floor disappeared as you shut your eyes.

‘…that you shall relinquish your place as elven-warrior of the guard.’


	2. Deep Wounds and First Touches

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which you experience both your Lord's cold and hot sides...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> mecin- please

That.

That was simply cruel. One did not praise, simply to destroy a second later. Your breathing stuttered, an alert of tears to come. Your heart beat frantically against the cage of your ribs, but you knew you had only one choice of how to react - so you settled your body into deliberate stillness, against your every instinct. You knew better than to argue. If the King personally issued an order, there was no option other than to obey.

Against your own volition, you felt your eyes begin to sting beneath your closed lids.

‘My, my lord-’

His voice, laced with steel cut off your feeble attempt at protest. ‘Forsooth, it has been decided. The decree is final.’

You let out a breath you had not realized you were holding. Your function protecting your king and kingdom was over, just like that? Never again would you share in the stories told of great triumphs, never again revel in the way the wind whipped up your hair, your brothers and sisters in battle descending upon your foe in a flurry of snowy white, burning red and woody brown hair, the ties of the guard binding you together tighter than any relation of blood ever could. Presently you felt as if an enemy lance had pierced your armour, tearing a deep wound into your breast, incapacitating your movements. You should not speak, yet the words tumbled from your lips regardless.

‘My lord, _mecin,_ I beseech you-’

 ‘You _dare_ defy direct orders from your king?’ All the warmth had seeped from his voice, as with a rustle of his magnificent cape you heard him arise from his seat and advance towards you, until he stood directly above your hovering form.

‘Forgive me,’ you whispered, barely choking back tears. Now you were glad to be kneeling, for you would have rather been struck down by an arrow than have the king notice the wetness glistening on your cheeks. Granted, you had just been informed of your separation from what you had always believed to be your solemn duty and calling. Yet your meagre comfort was short-lived.

‘On your feet. _Eryā_!’

Even if you had tried to resist, your formal training forced your body to obey to the command. Regardless, you kept your gaze averted and your head bowed, unsuccessfully hiding the flush of shame tinging your cheeks.

From this proximity, you could not but notice the King's starkly tall stature, and how the heat radiating off of his powerful frame nearly made you shiver. From up so close you could even detect his scent. It reminded you strongly of pines in a coniferous forest when the first snow of the year fell from the skies, mixed with underlying smoky notes of a to you unknown spice. You tried to breathe calmly in the face of further intoxication and thus ultimately, mortification, as your proximity contributed nothing to the dying of your blush.

Suddenly, he reached out, and had your heart not been so practised in resilience, you would have flinched at the hand reaching for your face. His fingers curled gently beneath your chin, raising your head so you would meet his eyes. His gaze roamed over the soft expanse of your face. With great inner satisfaction, he noted the delicious crimson hotly staining your complexion.

As your skin tingled beneath his marvelling gaze you could not but lift your eyes in return, peering at from beneath long lashes.

The elf bore some resemblance to man, albeit with certain, beautiful differences. He was as pale as a pearl, with a patrician nose and cheekbones as sharp as glass. Your gaze drifted lower to his lips, generous and soft, with a distinct v-shaped bow on the upper. His eyes had melted back into sea-foam blue as he stared at you, upper lids squinting down with the intensity of his regard.

You were mesmerised.

There were tales sung of the beauty of elves, and you yourself were the object of many an ellyn’saffection. Yet no ballad, story, or rumour even came close to the magnificence of the Elven Lord’s radiance. From his blonde, silken hair to his alabaster skin he was perfect.

And he knew it.

‘What is this?’ he whispered, mouth curling into a knowing smile. ‘Tears?’ He swept his thumb across your cheek to brush away the wetness there, following its path down your face. Your lips parted under his tender touch as his fingers came to linger at the corner of your mouth before falling away. ‘Alas, do not weep, for there is much that lies ahead of you.’

‘ _Boe-_ must it be so?’ you asked imploringly, as it took every fibre of your being not to melt on the spot.

‘ _Naw_ \- it is so,’ he replied. ‘ _Aphado nin_ \- walk with me.’

You gingerly placed your arm atop of his, accepting his invitation to a turn around the room. Surprise was barely concealed on the pale faces of the courtiers, straining to hear every word.

‘Your knowledge and skill in regard to healing our wounded has come to my ears, again, and again.’

You remained silent, so he continued.

‘As you are perhaps aware, in light of recent events…,’ he stopped briefly and immediately the shadows of the woods came to your mind, alongside the spiders and other evil creatures of the dark that had been making your lives heavy in the last few weeks. ‘I have been… suffering from an old wound that has come back to torment me, and I find myself in need of an expert healer.’

You swallowed, looking around to see whether your conversation had turned into a private one.

‘Indeed,’ the king uttered gravely, nodding his head, ‘not only do I demand skill, but also discretion.’

Incredulously, you met his gaze. His blue eyes shone, yet there was a darkness that lay over them, the lasting effects of some unspeakable loss. Your own must have reflected some of his old sorrow (as is traditional elven way), for immediately the soft blue turned to steel, and the shadow contorted his entire face. Beneath your fingers, the flesh of his hand seemed to melt away before your eyes. You withdrew in shock as you found his face equally transformed.

A horrific firebrand marred the flawless skin, deep lacerations of where flames hat charred their way through the naturally healing elven flesh stood in stark contrast to the other side of his face. There even fell a cloudy grey upon one eye, as the stony façade nearly crumbled in front of you. Terrified by such a foul display of magical fire you felt the strong compulsion to retch, but instead you gingerly clasped the king’s ruined hand with yours.

‘I could tell you tales of Dragon Fire, that would chill your blood. I have keenly felt is destruction and ruin, and even now, centuries later must still suffer its wrath.' He rounded up on you, voice angry.

‘Can you see what it has done? Do you see how even my power nearly failed in battle against the Serpents of the North? How can you begin to understand, how much, to what extent I… what I lost…’ He trailed off bitterly.

‘What I ask of you now, healer is to make your choice. I know of your stubbornness. You believe you belong with the guard, and you think you can so easily slip between the roles of redeemer or killer. Well, I know it to be different.’ He drew a deep breath, withdrawing his arm coldly, turning to walk away. ‘You have until sunrise to make your decision. If I hear of you reporting to morning duty, I will not hesitate to exile you.’

He slumped onto his throne, fighting to regain his royal composure. You bowed once more, deeply, fingers still tingling where his had initially rested so warmly beneath yours.

‘Until sunrise, my Lord Thranduil.’

With an impatient wave of his hand, you were escorted out.


	3. Prove Yourself

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Before you can make your decision, you will have to prove your worth on a short mission- will everything go well? Perhaps... if you are lucky

_Perian-_ hobbit, halfling (pertaining to your size)

 _Ego, mibo orc-_ Be gone, kiss an orc

 

 

 

 

You were furious. How _could_ he? The king himself had sung your praises regarding your versatility on the battlefield and the healing wards. Why, oh _why_ did he have to force you to make such a decision? And how could he be so certain of your abilities in the first place? He certainly was not known for his trusting nature.

 

You let out an angry cry as your bow twanged, hitting three of the training targets at once. You usually came to the arena when you needed to clear your head, and today it was particularly relevant. Pulling hard on the beautifully crafted arrows, the targets splintered and fell into piles of twigs. Somewhat satisfied, you huffed out a deep breath, taking in the other heaps of obliterated wood and material.

 

‘No need to leave any for the rest of us!’

 

You whirled around. Usually such disrespect did not phase you. However today you were not open for teasing of any kind, much less from an elf many years your junior.

 

_‘Ego, mibo orc, Glawion!’_

 

‘Now now, is that any way to speak to your Prince’s entourage?’ replied the elf silkily, stepping aside to reveal Legolas, son of the King.

 

Immediately dropping your bow, you bowed deeply before the young royal. ‘ _Goheno nin_ \- forgive me, your highness. I did not sense your approach.’

 

‘At ease, guard,’ came his reply, smoothly inclining his head respectfully towards you. Legolas certainly knew the polite elven code of conduct, and immediately you felt slightly less ruffled. ‘It has come to my ears that my father has requested you to aid in his personal protection. As a sort of… guard of his being.’

 

Personal guard? That was the first you ever heard of it. Sensing your confusion, he continued.

 

‘It seems to me that father omitted this particular detail of the description of your post.’

 

Indeed. You nodded slowly.

 

‘As it so happens, your abilities for both his protection, as for the healing of his… predicament are particularly useful. It will not be an easy position’ he concluded suddenly. ‘I have orders to put your skills on trial. Word has returned that a group of spiders has attacked one of the evening patrols. I will keep it simple: choose a guard elf and proceed to the southern outpost of the city. Lend your bow, destroy the enemy, and retrieve the wounded- _alive_. Your journey back should be just long enough for you to report straight to the palace in the morning. See to it that you return in a timely fashion. Father abhors tardiness.’

 

There it was. You had known impressing Thranduil went far beyond any word of mouth rumour. In any case, your resources were anything but spent, you were physically yearning for a challenge. At least to put your mind off things, and shooting spiders a hundred times larger than they should be should work splendidly.

 

‘It is always pleasure to serve you, my lord Legolas,’ you replied lightly and shouldered your bow, throwing a look at Glawion. The young elf’s mocking expression had slipped into one of admiring disbelief. A sudden thought crossed your mind, and you could not suppress a grin.

 

‘May I make a request, my Lord? I choose Glawion to accompany me on tonight’s mission.’

 

‘ _Nō_ \- may it be so. Far be it from me to deny the wishes of one the guard’s most experienced. _Galu_ \- good luck, both of you.’

 

With a nod from his blonde head, the prince and his entourage swept away, sans one, jittery elf that was now standing by your side, trying not to show his nerves.

 

‘Pshaw, luck. We do not need it, no, not us, oh no, not us I tell you- spiders of Mirkwood, you shall feel our wrath! Who requires luck?’

 

 

<3 <3 <3 <3 <3

 

Who requires luck indeed, you reflected darkly as you pulled an arrow from the carcass of a particularly juicy arachnid. The wet squelching sound made you flinch. Next to you Glawion was hacking away at the net of the now-deceased spider, freeing the unlucky members of the elf-patrol, completely enwrapped in gooey white netting. He was muttering to himself.

 

‘Disgusting creatures… _amarth faeg_ \- what evil fate… eugh!’

 

Having mistaken a vaguely elf-shapen spider parcel for one of your fellows, he drew back with an appalled shriek as it turned out to be the rotting remains of what could be identified as a deer carcass instead.

 

‘Glawion!’ you scolded, ‘Do pay attention! The others might be suffocating beneath the webs!’

 

With combined effort, you managed to free three of the missing patrol squad of four. Gasping for air, one of the ellith pointed to the leafy canopy far above your heads, lamenting the fate of the last to be recovered elf. Pulling off your helmet, you gently touched your forehead against hers, and she visibly relaxed from the friendly elven gesture, before shaking her head angrily.

 

‘We could not help him ere that monster strung him up.’

 

After having quickly asserted that none of the others were missing any limbs, you sighed in relief. Perhaps you had been lucky after all.

 

‘My lady, watch out!’

 

You had spoken too soon. As you lifted your head in shock, you saw that Glawion had taken it upon himself to retrieve the last elf, lying over his shoulder as a big, sticky lump, carried by the young elf, elegantly springing from branch to branch. Until he mis-stepped. Down, down they tumbled, crashing into branches and through twigs, finally landing with a sickly crunch at the foot of a large oak. You sprung to your feet, already drawing upon the power within your core, the power of the _fëa_.

 

It seemed your companion had taken the brunt of the fall, the elf on top awakening with a low groan.

 

Gently rolling him off, your gaze was immediately drawn to the contusion at the back of Glawion’s skull, as well as the awkward way his legs were bent. Drawing a deep breath you let your power whisper around you, focusing all your energy on the elf. Good, he had surived.

 

‘Quick, bring me my bag,’ you ordered, and there was a scramble for help.

 

‘I need-’ you had barely started the sentence when a vial, ice-cold to the touch was thrust into your hand. You poured the contents over a roll of clean linen bandages, and the liquid hissed and evaporated as it was laid across the gaping head wound, stilling the steady flow of blood.

 

Suddenly, Glawion’s eyelids flickered and irises as green as the moss covering the forest floor peered up at you in full-blown panic.

 

‘My legs- I cannot feel my legs!’

 

That was never a good sign. You quickly assembled your helpers around you.

 

‘Keep his back straight! Now turn him, carefully! Oh, bless me…’

 

Having torn open his tunic, you spotted the gravest of all Glawion’s injuries. The bottom part of his spine had fallen out of alignment, bones jutting out of his lovely skin, now mottled with bruises and blood. You heard the two ellyn beside you turn their heads in disgust, and the elleth sob mournfully. Taking a deep breath and steeling yourself, you leaned over your companion and whispered to him gently, so that only he could hear you. Sindarin words of encouragement fell from your lips, and the young elf painfully grasped your arm, voice tearful.

 

‘ _Agóreg vae_ \- do you promise?’

 

‘ _Athon-_ I will.'


	4. I faer nîn linna nan glass...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I thank you from my heart... Can you dispel an old nightmare?

__Le channon-__ I thank you

 _Bain-_ beautiful

 _*Baw, mecin, mecin-_ no, please, please

 _I faer nîn linna nan glass-_ I thank you from my heart

 

 

 

 

You barely stifled an exhausted yawn as the first rays of morning sunlight tickled the tips of your ears, warming your long hair. It had been a long night.

 

Behind you marched the patrol squad you had freed from the spider’s web, with their youngest (and as it so happened, heaviest) member on their shoulders. Only the elleth was marching beside you, helping you transport your companion that you had strapped onto a makeshift carrier, careful as to not shift his back. You had worked for almost two hours, muttering spell after spell under your breath, infusing your hands with elven magic as you gently realigned his spine. Using the same liquid as you had to freeze shut his head wound, you had poured a second vial of what were waters of Lórien, collected from the river Nimrodel directly into the wound, hoping it would envelop the sensitive nerves of the back so you would not damage them as you manoeuvred bones and flesh back into place. It had been an incredibly taxing feat, but it had paid off, as Glawion was now asleep, arm curled around your shoulders as it had been when you had taken off to return home.

 

Occasionally stopping to give your companions rest, you distributed the rest of the _Lembas_ you had saved from a previous mission, gladdening as its restorative powers visibly reinvigorated your company. After another hour's march, glittering lights suddenly blinked at you from through the undergrowth and then vanished, one by one. You thought you had imagined it, but soon identified them as the lanterns of your kingdom being extinguished as morning advanced and the sun rose higher. The sound of a horn being blown echoed deeply through the trees, and your heart lightened as your weary body knew you were almost home. As you entered the kingdom, there immediately came a rush of aid to your side. Ôldaer landed deftly by you, springing down from his perch high above your heads.

 

‘Come,’ he simply said, lending you his strength as you proceeded towards the quarters of the healers.

 

The well-familiar smell of tinctures and herbs surrounded you, the scent of the morning air impregned by myrrh and smoke, glass containers filled with liquids glinting iridescently all around you. Wherever you walked ellyth and ellyn bowed their gracious heads respectfully in your direction, reverence and loyalty clearly expressed on their elvish faces. Ôldaer nodded approvingly.

 

‘They are all glad to see you, _mellon_. You are held in high esteem here. And rightly so.’

 

You bowed your head weakly at his appraisal, too exhausted to say anything else. ‘ _Le channon,_ Ôldaer.’

 

When Glawion was hoisted onto one of the altar-shaped stone tables, your students and fellow-healers gathered around it, studying your handiwork.

 

‘Indeed, very rightly so! Listen, they speak nothing but praise of your work.’

 

‘That gladdens my heart, truly. Yet what I desire most is to hear of Glawion’s complete recovery.’ You sighed sadly. Then, with a calculating look at the soft shadows that fell over the sun-strewn floor, you started up.

‘I am sorry- _goheno nin_ , my friend. Lord Thranduil expects me.’

 

Ôldaer bade you goodbye with an elegant wave of his hand as you made your way through the throngs of people.

 

<3 <3 <3 <3 <3

 

As the guards stepped out of the way to grant you entry to the throne room, you were surprised to find the seat empty. You turned, but there was nobody in sight.

 

‘ _Hîr vuin_ \- my lord?’ you called, but only your own voice echoing back replied to your call.

 

You crossed the room, stopping before the steps of the magnificent throne. A single ray of sunshine fell upon its shape, enveloping the seat in an ethereal glow that illuminated the dim of the empty hall. Reverently you ran your fingers across the glossy wood, carved from one of the ancient trees of the forest. It had been a gift, so legend told, to the old king of the Greenwood, given by the trees themselves to their gracious ruler.

A tired smile stole across your features. To be king of the elves… what a glorious feeling it must be. Mankind did not understand. The rough and tumble dwarves could perhaps comprehend a little better. But none other than an elf would ever know what it felt like, to be utterly devoted to your king, to serve your kind by staying loyal, true, and just.

 

A sudden breeze picked up, breathlessly playing with your hair. It brought with it that scent of a certain unidentifiable spice, and you felt more than actively realized feet carrying you towards the direction it came from. You walked through long halls made of strong oaken trees, past a courtyard with an old stone fountain in its midst, following the scent that seemed to be calling to you. You walked on and on, until soon you stood in front of two double doors that reached so high, that even if three of the tallest Sindar elves were to stand atop each other’s shoulders, they would not reach the top. One of the doors stood ajar, and you gently pushed it open.

 

The first thing that caught your eye was the gorgeous four-poster bed, hung with the most exquisite silken sheets of silver and white. And in its midst, lay Lord Thranduil, seemingly asleep. 

 

You approached rather shyly, not wanting to startle the elven king and owe an explanation as to how, or why you had found his chambers.

 _Thank the Valar for the carpeted floor_ , you thought- albeit somewhat unnecessarily. An elf made only the slightest mark in freshly fallen snow, you need not have worried that your footsteps, set as softly as a furry feline's paw wouldd rouse the sleeping monarch.

 

You decided to settle by the bed, daring to glance at his face. His hair was splayed out over the cushions like a halo, the diffused sunlight framing his face in a corona of light.

 

In that moment he looked blindingly angelic.

 

‘ _Bain…,’_ you whispered, struck by the image before you.

 

The more you stared, the more you began to notice, things like the tiny lines of worry that creased the noble brow, or how the he delicate skin beneath Thranduil’s eyes looked bruised from sleep deprivation.

 

Presently he stirred, and a soft sigh escaped his parted lips. No, it sounded more like a whisper, the whisper of a name you could not make out. Sudden distress now radiated from him and washed over you unbidden.

 

Tilting his head back, a groan emanated from deep within his throat, followed by the forlorn uttering of a plea:

 

_‘*Baw- mecin, mecin…!’_

 

 _He must be dreaming ill,_  you thought, and feeling brave you brushed gently over the pale hand that was clenching the sheets tightly beneath it. The reverent touch however only seemed to worsen his condition. The soft flesh of his hand seemed to fall away and his struggles became more vocal. Had you not witnessed the physical revealing of his scars the day before, you had been even more frightened by his outcry.

 

‘ _Mecin, mecin!’_

__

It seemed as if he was actually begging for mercy. Try as you might, your gentle touches upon his hand failed to calm the sleeping king. As his face transformed to show the hideous scars, his expression became tortured, and he suddenly gripped your arm. The grip was so excruciatingly hard, you believed he intended to break apart the bone.

 

Not knowing how else to calm his emotions, you did the only thing you could think of doing in such a situation, regardless of his nobility and your… well, not exactly royal blood. An elf would always react to an elvish touch- this you knew, and as emotion was easily shared between your kin, surely it would work with your King.

 

Your movement was confident and just shy of too quick when your forehead touched against Thranduil’s. A moan fell from your lips when the onslaught of his emotion engulfed you, and you felt as if somebody had ripped your heart from your chest. Your noses brushed, and as his breath tickled your chin as you poured every inch of reverence, admiration, and enamoured adoration into the space between you, a sense of calm slowly settling around you a heartbeat later.

 

The sound of both of your heaving breaths filled the bedroom as you bathed each other’s emotions, one of the most intimate gestures elves could share. It fell just shy of marital love-making, which was the climax of an elf’s emotional journey.

 

You closed your eyes heavily, thinking about the consequences of you action. If an elf takes on the partner’s pain in order to share in it so that they may carry a lesser burden, nothing would revoke that elf’s loyalty. T’was as if you had handed him your heart with both hands and said ‘I give it to you, take me with you wherever you go, for I shall always be at your side.’

 

Alas, he was still asleep, a peaceful expression now once more gracing his visage. He again whispered the name- as if to be certain that his call would be answered by precisely that person. You leaned closer, the next second however wishing you had not. 

 

‘ _Hiril vuin_ …’

 

Beloved lady…

 

As much as it stung to admit, it was folly to believe that this address had concerned to you.

 

Gently you retracted your head, brushing away your long hair from his face. You certainly had a lot to ponder, especially what your intuitive reaction said about your previously hidden away feelings for the king. Lifting your robe from the bed, you turned one last time to peer at his face, and your heart nearly stopped beating. Silver-blue eyes were fixed keenly upon you.

 

You felt as if time around you had stopped.

 

 Then he spoke, so quietly you later thought you had imagined it…

 

‘ _I faer nîn linna nan glass_.’


	5. The Night-Fountain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You are ashamed of your actions, yet when you find yourself in a compromising position (namely in the King's arms!), will you be able to resist?

_Nad luin-_ you are blue

 

 

 

 

Your heart throbbed painfully in your chest as you ran, flying over bridges and over magnificent stairways of the elven kingdom.

 

Up and up and up you went, until your head broke through the leafy canopy. Rose coloured dawn light striped across the tree tops, ancient rows of oak and ash swaying lightly in the breeze. The image of a vast green ocean came to mind, with waves of rippling green. The platform you stood upon was nestled into the crown of a particularly old tree that protruded like a finger from the rest of the forest. You were certain that you would be undisturbed in your thoughts, here- up so high you could almost touch the morning sky.

 

You surveyed the wood, stretching yearningly toward the horizon. By the Valar, what had you been thinking? You had been so close to Lord Thranduil, _his royal highness_ , practically straddling the half-asleep elf. You could not believe your own impertinence. You were not a young elf anymore, you could not allow yourself such freedoms without the consequence of serious ramifications!

 

You had perfectly sabotaged yourself. Shame and nausea suddenly roiled in your stomach as the scene of you fleeing from the royal bedchambers replayed in your head, and your knees threatened to buckle. You bent over, grasping the wooden railing for support, and breathed deeply through your nose to quell the skittering panic. Crows cried overhead as though they were mocking you -look, silly elf, I can fly wherever I please, and you are bound by your silly actions!

 

Shooting metaphorical arrows at the circling birds, you pinched your brow. No, it would not do. After a moment, you straightened up. Wallowing in self-pity never did any soul any good. You had accepted your new position by default this morning after having not reported for duty. Therefore, you had to handle yourself professionally. You were not an elf-child anymore- the centuries you had lived so far should have at least taught you some sense of self-control and patience. You knew there would always be another solution if you just kept your wits about you. You could not succumb to this ridiculous enamorment, no matter how strongly your soul yearned for the Elven King. It does naught but trouble to refuse to admit your own feelings.

Besides, perhaps the king had been too deeply asleep to even have realised the extent to which you had embarrassed yourself.

 

<3 <3 <3 <3 <3

 

You managed to get about halfway to the stove when you gave up and lay down on your bed gratefully with your cheek pressed to the sheets, bare feet dangling off the edge. Tauriel, head of the guard, had taken one look at you, Glawion’s blood dry on the sleeves of your robe and wisps of spiderweb still in your hair, and had sent you home with a stern glare and an order to rest and return to court later in the evening so the elleth could outline the duties of your new role for you. The tiniest of smiles had parted her lips as she had briefly held you back.

' _Agóreg vae_ \- you did well. The young ellon is already walking again.'

You were elated, but presently every muscle in your body ached. And every bone ached, and within your bones you were certain that the marrow ached as well. You had not the energy to pull on your sleeping robes, as you splayed in your silken tunic. Lulled by the sound of the rustling trees, you drifted into sleep.

 

 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3

 

You woke again to the cool evening air.You must have slept through the entirety of the day, you mused. Raising your gaze to the window, you noticed a white feather stuck in the frame. As you tugged to free it, it fell into your lap with a note attached to it. One of the palace messenger doves must have delivered it earlier. The note read:

 

 _Mae g'ovannen_ \- Well Met

 _Hîr Thranduil's_ pains seem to have lessened over night, thank the Valar.

He requires now something to soothe the nerves. I recommend waters of the _dú_ - _eithel._

You will know it's healing powers are most potent if collected at dusk, by the hand of a maiden.

I trust both of these circumstances you shall fulfil. 

 _Na lû e-govaned 'wîn_ \- to the time of our meeting.

-Malgelirchanar

 

Your cheeks burned as you set down the letter. Maiden indeed. Although it did not come as a surprise that one of the court's highest healers knew you were yet untouched, it embarrassed  you regardless. Quite certainly, Malgelirchanar's knowledge simply went back to an old elvish truth: ‘an elf can read at once in the eyes and voice of another whether they be wed or unwed’-  touched, or untouched. There rarely was any in-between for your kin.

 

You dispelled those thoughts with a shake of your head, and went to tend to your duties.

 

<3 <3 <3 <3 <3

 

Having freed one of your most ornate crystal jugs from within its velvet case, you gingerly approached  _dú_ - _eithel_ , the so-called night fountain. Crickets chirped with anticipation as you step closer. The babbling sound of water reached your pointy ears, fine-tuned to pick up the quietest of sounds. You parted the low-hanging branches of the weeping willow and the rippling water grew more distinct.

 

The fountain was made of beautiful white marble, and you ran your fingers across the stone that was illuminated by the almost blinding light of the moon. Careful as to not get your tunic wet, you sat yourself onto its lip, dipping a hand into the glittering depths. But the moment you touched the water, it lit up, white little lights shimmering under your fingers. As quickly as it happened, the water turned inky blue once more. You tapped the water again just to see the bright eruption. You smiled gently, in awe. The fountain never ceased to delight you.

 

Turning to peer at the reflection, you recognised your own face staring back up; full lips, tiny crow's feet of pleasant humor dancing at the corners of your sparkling eyes, framed by a beautiful shock of fire-red hair. You smiled as your snowy elven skin shone brightly under the flattering nocturnal light, your large eyes staring watery back at you. 

 

How deep could the pool be, you mused curiously. On a whim, you leaned forward. 

 

Suddenly, your reflection changed, and another face appeared next to yours, startling you terribly.

 

With a gasp your hands shot out to grasp the cool marble, but to no avail- you landed in the fountain with a splash. Bubbles poured from your mouth as you flailed, shock momentarily getting the better of you as the cold water touched your skin. Then- frightfully strong hands settled around your shoulders, pulling you out of the depths and into warm arms.

 

Coughing and spluttering, you pressed your hand to your chest as though the action would smooth down your stuttering heart. Lord Thranduil himself was supporting you above the surface as you wheezed. Dimly, you were aware of the King making a tender crooning noise, and soothing a slender hand through your hair. You had no words. What could you say?

 

'Lord Thranduil-' you breathed, blinking liquid from your eyes. Tiny droplets of water sluiced down his marble face too, dropping onto your fist that was clutching his cloak clasped tightly around his throat. The Elven King held you to his chest, silver-blue eyes affixed keenly on yours.

 

After a tense second, he gently dropped you to your feet, one arm still supportingly placed under your elbow, the other wound around your waist. You peered at him breathlessly from beneath a lace of lashes.  _By the Valar,_  but he was strong! You could feel the ripple and flex of his abdominal muscles as your lower bodies pressed together. A thrill of interest tingled up your spine and you quashed it down, blaming it on your rather compromising position. The elf's grip on you however only tightened as you did not look away as would have been expected of you.

 

When he spoke, the King's voice had dropped an entire octave.

 

'You are wet.'

 

You shivered as Lord Thranduil’s gaze traced the outline of your figure, noting all the places where the fabric of your dress clung sinfully to your skin. The buds of your breasts stood out through the wet silk, roused by the feeling of the fabric rubbing against it. How you flushed when you saw his gaze lingering there hungrily. How his Adam's apple bobbed, as he swallowed against his throat that had run dry. You were utterly bewitching to him.

 

'You must be cold,' he continued, voice raspier than usual. 

 

You could do nothing but nod. His fingers reached up to brush the nape of your neck and his eyes widened as he felt you shudder at his touch. His fingers on your bare skin drove you mad.

 

His hand slid downwards so slowly, it felt like an eternity had passed until his fingertips ghosted over the hollow of your neck and your collarbone until they had reached the fabric at the edge of your tunic. Your heart was pounding so hard in your chest that he could probably feel it.

 

Staring at the wet porcelain of your shoulder he drew impossibly closer, gaze zeroing in on your lips.

 

' _Nad luin_...'

 

He lifted his fingers to your lips. The motion was deliberate. Slow. You quivered when you realised what he was about to do. Shame threatened to bloom inside of you as you remembered your position, and you threw a pleading look at the king. 

 

Lord Thranduil's mouth curved into a smile, the kind of smile that said ‘ _I am your king, and you are subservient to me- we both_ _know how this will end.’_

 

You weighed whether it was worth moving, worth disobeying.

 

Your passion won out, there was only so much suspense an elf could bear. You parted your lips in receptivity, and he brought his hand even closer to your mouth.

 

Unvoluntarily your eyes fell shut as you felt his fingers graze your soft blue lips. You opened up, breathing a kiss against the delicate skin. You kissed your way slowly up those long fingers, licking sweet droplets of the fountain's water off them. You worshipped him with your tongue, dipping your wet muscle into the tight spaces between every single digit.

 

At one point you grew brave enough to tease, deliberately catching the soft pad of Lord Thranduil's finger between your teeth- this you immediately regretted. The King's hand instantaneously tightened around your jaw, nails pressing lightly into your face.

 

' _M-man ceril_ \- what are you doing, infernal creature?' he all but stuttered, demanding an answer.

 

His eyes were blazing with an expression that was as dark as it was hungry. You were at once reminded of how much power flowed through the King's veins, and by the Valar how much you wanted to feel it.

 

Gauging his emotions by your elven intuition, you were taken aback by the sudden heart-wrenching feelings of punishing self-denial and yet overwhelming need as they swirled around the King darkly. The elf twitched, withdrawing his hand to hold it in front of both of your faces.

 

The patch between his fingers sparkled briefly as the tiny glittering specks from the water lingered there, then fell away into the darkness. 

 

The moonlight did not fall off his hand however, in fact it was almost as if he carried the moon in miniature on his right index finger. So brightly shone the light, captured within the glistening jewel. You glanced at your king unsurely. His shoulders were oddly hunched, and the flame of liquid silver within his eyes had gone, replaced by the familiar, grey hollowness.

 

For some odd reason, the old elvish saying suddenly pervaded your thoughts: _'an elf can read at once in the eyes and voice of another whether they be wed'..._

 

You reached out once more, intuitively trying to read the situation.

 

A sudden feeling of such despair that it seemed you might be crushed swept over you. It was as though every hurt and sorrow you had ever known was brought to the surface. It took you a minute to realise that the source of your misery was not your own self, but was radiating off the grieving King- he had suffered some terrible loss.

 

Then it hit you.

 

' _Hîr Thranduil_ , it is the queen, your _bereth_ , is it not?'

 

He barely moved his head, but his eyes told you it was so.

 

You hummed quietly in your throat, a noise that from one elf to another radiated soothing. You knew it was your duty now to put your feelings aside.

 

Picking up the full crystal jug, you offered your King your arm, bowing respectfully, yet gentler, more feminine and in the more become motion for an elleth, than the ceremonial bowing. The King inclined his head respectfully and took your arm, but you sensed he was lost in his own world.

 

' _Aphado nin_ \- come with me, my Lord.'

 

As you guided King Thranduil, Lord of the Elves of Mirkwood, back to his chambers, you briefly touched a finger to your lips, reminiscing of how his had done just so a few moments ago with such tenderness. You also however were reminded of the heartbreak in his expression after the painful memory had resurfaced. 

 

 _Well_ , you thought quietly, _there are more scars to heal than you had originally thought._

  

 


	6. Mereth Nuin Giliath- part 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So- it is Mereth Nuin Giliath (sound familiar?), the starlight festival. Is King Thranduil overcome with grief at the festival of remembrance, or does he have his eye on someone else? And who is sneaking around Mirkwood, disturbing the... lovely creatures of the forest in the meanwhile...? Read to find out

 

 _Mae g'ovannen_!- Well met!

 _Ai-_ Hail

 _Mereth Nuin Giliath-_ (literally) The Feast of Starlight

 _Tolo, govano ven-_ Come, meet me

 _Lasto i_ lhôn _o i dór. I arnad_ teitha _na gar- cín emel ha in i bor-_ Hear the beat of the land. The king reaches to hold your heart in hand.'

 _mellon-_ friend

 _mellon-nîn-_ my friend

 _cin mír calad an i elena-_ you shine brighter than the stars

 _ _le athae-__ you are kind

 _ _Hîr Legolas-nîn-__ my lord Legolas

 

 

 

 

' _Mae g'ovannen_!'

'Well met, well met indeed!'

' _Ai_ \- hail, hail the king!'

The entire kingdom was in the throws of preparation for _Mereth Nuin Giliath,_ the annual starlight festival. Deep beneath the court's feet, through oaken trapdoors and ancient stone halls stood barrels upon barrels of wine, red and white, that were now dusted off and rolled up, up up, for elves are very fond of wine. The kitchens buzzed as a beehive would, and mouthwatering scents wafted through the halls, of fresh loaves baking in the ovens and rivers of sauces brewing thickly to marry the goodly meats and fresh greens on the palate. Presently servants were rushing past you, carrying cakes and golden platters of fruit, candied and fresh as they greeted every passerby in good mirth.

Tonight you celebrated _Mereth Nuin Giliath_ , the Starlight festival. Not only do elves bask in the precious light, but more importantly, tonight every the elves would pay homage to those that came before, as tonight also marked a celebration of memory. Which is why you were tasked with visiting the holy tree.

You sighed, lost in thought, At least you could relinquish one rather embarrassing memory to the heavens tonight. It had been nearly a fortnight since the fountain-incident, yet it still brought a flush to your face and left you oddly breathless- of shame or of exhilaration, you did not know. Or at least, that is what you told your quivering heart.

The King, as expected, gracefully had not let on any change of heart or even any sign of recollection of that night, to the point of you beginning to doubt whether it had even happened. The only lasting effect was a rather uncomfortable uneasiness that settled over you every time you felt his gaze brush over you.

As you stepped into the courtyard, your expression softened and peace came over your face. The stone walls lay still in their undisturbed sleep, far off from the hustle and bustle within the centre of the kingdom. You were on your way to collect flowers for the feast.

Cool wetness brushed your ankles as you stepped from cobbled stone onto grass, following an unseen path into the vast forest, stretching far into the east.

Where the trees began to spread from their thick embrace of the forest, there after but a short walk you stepped into a meadow, in which's centre stood a tree bathed in silver light. On it grew a crown of white blossoms, pure white flowers no mortal eye could see.

Laying your hands onto the rough bark, you heard the wind pick up as the magic of the fae rippled like water underneath your fingers.

' _Tolo, govano ven_ ,' it whispered. ' _Lasto i lhôn o i dór. I arnad teitha na gar- cín emel ha in i bor.' _

You gasped, and the gust drew strongly through the branches, and the tree bent this way and that, showering you with petals that fell all around you, as softly and thickly as snow. 

 

<3 <3 <3 <3 <3

 

Later when you relayed the words spoken in that age-old voice to Ôldaer, the elf smiled, albeit sadly. 

'Step carefully, _mellon_. The King is a fickle master... Now do not protest, I have seen the way you look at him, how you flush under his gaze.'

'No, Ôldaer-'

''tis the way it is, old friend. I merely want to raise a word of caution, to perhaps spare you infinite heartache. To yearn from afar, to be condemned to suffer silently under the strain of wanting to give oneself without any hope of acceptance into the arms of the one your heart most desires... Any elf that says desire stills after the first few millennia has never loved with such fervour that their heart bled.'

A silence so tense it could have been sliced with a knife followed.

'Ôldaer-'

You stopped as you both suddenly perked up, the sonorous chorus of elven voices permeating the air, accompanied simply by the rhythmic beating of drums. You could tell Oldaer felt it too, your own deep feeling of belonging reflected in his shining eyes. 

'Come, let us join the festivities.'

He gallantly held his arm out in gesture to let you lead the way, but in the last moment blocked your pathway with it. Oldaer stared down into your face.

' _Mellon-nîn_... tonight you- _Cin mír calad an i elena.'_

 

_< 3 <3 <3 <3 <3_

 

The courtyard was beautifully decorated, with silver jewels glittering amongst the white flower garlands that hung thickly across the marble columns and archways. The fire in the centre burned brightly, it looked as if the entire court had gathered. As you were marvelling how the flames lit up the handsome faces of your fellow Eldar, you heard a voice behind you.

 _'Êlin síla erin lû e-govaned 'wîn_ - Stars shine over the time of our meeting.'

You spun around, delighted.

'Quite literally tonight, Glawion. Please, tell me- how are you?'

The young elf laughed mischievously. 'Formidably, my lady.' His laughter gave way to a different kind of emotion, as he took in your dress. 'You- you look beautiful.'

Oldaer next to you bristled lightly at the very blatant compliment from such a minor elf towards you, and you tried stifle a grin.

'Why thank you,  _le athae-_ you are too kind _,_ young one _._ I am glad to see you walking again,' you added in earnest. 

'Ah, all thanks to the master healer, I can assure you. Before I forget- you should be in for a treat tonight, Legolas has agreed,' said he cryptically, with another low bow. Then, spotting someone over your shoulder, off he was, yelling to alert the attention of his fellows.

Both you and Oldaer sank onto one of the many seats situated around the fire, when you saw who Glawion had been so desperate to join. The Prince and his entourage stood in the centre of all the hustle and bustle, excitement clearly written on their faces. You faintly overheard their conversations.

'Come now, my lord, you promised!

'Ah, but did I, _mellon_ _,_ or did you simply take my assurance of coming here tonight as such?'

'Come Legolas, _mecin_!'

' _Mecin_ , _Legolas-nîn_!'

They were causing quite a scene, and there was a sudden hush, before excited whispers erupted.  Much to every elf's excitement, the prince, after having intently stared at his father for a tense second loosened the cloak from his neck and rose to his feet.

Then, Prince Legolas began to sing.

His song was traditional elvish, you knew it by heart. It tugged at your soul, washing over you in familiar pulses. He sang of the forest, of the sky, of the stars.

The court was breathless. Where he had started quietly, his voice expanded and now filled each listener's heart with bittersweet beauty.

The first chorus finished with a supernatural vibrato, and his voice quieted so slightly only an elf could have picked up upon it- he was unsure whether to continue. Just as you thought he would not, a warm, encouraging hum picked up from around you, carrying on the melody. You had not been the only one to notice.

So with newfound devotion, he continued. He sang of heroes, of old friends lost in battle or departed for Aman. It was almost too much to bear, your heart was so full it felt as if it would burst. The humming elves had joined together and were now swaying gently, and everything seemed so perfect it was unreal.

And then something happened that you would remember a lifetime.

As Legolas' tenor rang clear through the night air, singing of his grandfather, his great-grandfather, his ancestors, a second, liquid voice chimed in. It was like an ancient bell chiming along a small silver one. It was a deeper voice familiar to all elves that were a few millennia older than the others, a voice nobody had heard for a thousand years.

King Thranduil had risen, and his sonorous baritone rang clear through the halls and reverberated around you intensely, as if the ancient stone itself had found its voice and was singing along. 

It took your breath away.

Angels could not have produced a saintlier sound than that of father and son, the pure voices of Prince and King melting into one. Clearly the rest of the court was as affected, many had fallen to one knee, while others were rooted to the spot in awe.

The familiar chorus was about to ring out again. The King waved his hand, and suddenly the night was filled with the bulk of unified elven voices praising, remembering and singing in adoration to the stars.

You did not know whose arm you were linked with or who you were singing the flute-like upper melody with, your soul and all the other elven souls were one in this moment. All the sorrow and the pain of the last weeks were forgotten, this was the balm for any aching spirit. Raw emotion surged around you, and you saw just as much as felt the pains of your heart wash away, run down the wet paths of your cheeks and down those of the elves around you.

You were closer, now, and you could see King Thranduil clearly through the firelight, silhouetted against the white disc of the moon. He, you and every other elf seemed to be glowing, pale faces and hair reflected in the silvery light.

A gentle murmur suddenly told you that you were not the only ones compelled by the elven song. Rabbits, deer, birds all emerged from their holes, thicket and nests, making their way slowly to the meadow. The voice of the elves was a call, the music was the prayer, and every living creature in the forest came to listen and remember.

As the last lines of the song were about to be sung, one by one the voices faded away.

 

I did not see because I could not believe,

Though you came to me in the night.

When the dawn seemed forever lost,

You showed me love in the light of the stars

 

 

At last, only Legolas' bright tenor carried the last words of the song into the night.

 

Cast your eyes on the ocean.

Cast your souls across the sea.

When the dark night seems endless.

Please, remember me.

 

The silence that followed was heavy with memory. You knew every elf was deep in remembrance, thinking of those that they had lost, that had sailed to the blessed realm, or had been lost in battle. Many of your friends were beyond the sea as well, but despite your age, you had been very fortunate to having never lost the one, as undoubtedly many around you had.

You knew you should not, but you could not help it. Heart full of honest pity, you turned to look at Lord Thranduil, whose eyes you expected to be closed, or staring into the distance, full of hidden sorrow.

Instead they were blazing, boring into yours as he gleamed in the moonlight. You held his gaze and in that very second, you knew you were done for. It had happened without you noticing, but your very soul had bound itself to the king's, there was no going back.

The ghost of a smile stole across his lips as he saw the emotions flit across your face, and he finally raised his eyes to the heavens, in an 'up there' motion. Th stars glittered above you, veiled in the velvety blanket of night, silently blinking down upon you.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The two stanzas of song are only partially my own creation- legally it belongs to Loreena McKennitt, and the song is called 'Dante's Prayer', I thought the lyrics were just so fitting :) Furthermore, I imagine Legolas to sound like the lead singer of the traditional Irish song 'Mo Ghille Mear' sung by the Dublin University choir, which is what I was inspired by. It is amazing how much Irish sounds like elvish, and it just fit so well since I really wanted to incorporate the musical aspects of the Elves. Honestly, I cried the first times I heard it, their voices are the purest I have ever heard. Sorry for the ramble, leave a comment and show your love (or your ideas for improvement/ where you would like this story to go)


	7. Mereth Nuin Giliath- part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oh-oh... Things get hot and heavy with the king. Oldaer is called away to a disturbance within Mirkwood... Who could that be? Meanwhile, are things looking up for you and your adoration of the king? Read to find out...

_Dîn-_ silence 

 _Mecin, aran nîn-_ please, my king

 _Mecin, hîr Thranduil-nîn-_ please, my Lord Thranduil

 _Mecin,_ _Melethron-nîn-_ please, my (elven word for masculine) love/r 

 

 

 

After the emotionally taxing, yet beautiful songs of remembrance by the fire, the elves had gathered in the banquet hall. It had been a meal accompanied by laughter and tears, sometimes by themselves, sometimes because of both.

You had been seated next to Oldaer, in direct view of the king. Your friend however had been called to duty about an hour ago- something about an odd disturbance deep within the Mirkwood forest.

As to be expected, you had also sprung up immediately upon the hunting horn's brassy echo resounding throughout the kingdom. 

This was the first time you had caught his intent gaze again since you had locked eyes by the fire. Yet he simply raised one perfect eyebrow in disdain, perfectly threatening in a passive aggressive display of displeasure.

Hence your current grievance.

Since then he had been ignoring you all evening, only glowering at your back when you had laughed intently at an anecdote Oldaer had relayed back to you, clutching his arm as you chortled away. Such displays of affection were very displeasing to the stoic King.

You were dejectedly finishing the truly magnificent meal, albeit your appetite having severely decreased with the departure of all your friends of the guard.

You glowered at your plate. If he would at least look up at you...

But no, he was too busy emptying the wine decanter. Raising his goblet to his lips, he drank deeply. You swallowed as you saw his exposed milky white throat constrict and relax with every swig. When he set the bejewelled cup down, his tongue flashed out to wet his wine-stained lips.

You flushed as you remembered his hungry gaze on you when you had stood in his arms in the fountain, exposed by the traitorous fabric of your tunic. A filthy image of that wetted muscle sliding across your naked flesh shot unbidden through your head. 

You coughed around whatever it was that you had wanted to swallow, nearly choking. Grateful for the coverage to your face that your napkin lent you, you took a deep breath to steel yourself.

_By the Valar, get a grip_

When you re-emerged quickly however, you immediately regretted doing so.

A servant had come round offering plump, red strawberries, and had just handed the king one. You could not help but look and curse your luck- who decided to serve such sensuous foods?

As you observed closely, the little flare of his nostrils and the amused smirk however raised your suspicions. Secretly, the king drank in your reactions, determined to be favorable, and commenced lavishing the strawberry clutched in his white, elegant fingers. He even tilted his head slowly to expose the long line of his throat and the sharp jawline above the silver collar. It was evident that he, the King, wanted you to look.

You were not prepared to play his game, so with a cough, you pushed your seat back. You were beginning to feel uncomfortably hot and bothered, chest heaving within the constraints of your silver dress as you withdrew to one of the silent alcoves overlooking the courtyard.

The cool marble felt soothing against your forehead as you tried to return your breathing to a normal depth. You could not explain whatever you were feeling. For the longest time, you had been unable to get the beautiful elven King out of his mind. The smallest things got to you – things like eating, speaking slowly or even when his anger showed. It was terribly troubling, because it guaranteed never ending frustration at nearly every minute. He was really testing you, tempting you, and you felt that you could not much longer hold up your proud, resilient front in face of the constant subtle seduction. It was too much.

Desperation coursed through you. The worst part of it was that he knew. He must know, after that little escapade in the fountain. Shame coursed through you as you balled your hands into fists, nerves as tight as a bowstring as you felt more than heard the presence of the one elf you desired to see the least behind you.

‘Come now, you look as though you were about to take on an army of orcs. What makes you so ill-tempered tonight, _tithen pen_?’

You whirled around, and his eyes glittered dangerously, _the royal pain in the rear_. He was taunting you. And you were desperate.

‘To speak quite plainly my lord, it is you.’

He drew back in mild surprise.

‘I? Why, how disheartening.’ His voice grew cold. ‘There are not many elves that dare speak to me in this manner.’

You were trembling, the weight of your emotions nearly suffocating you.

‘My apologies, my lord,’ you ground out. ‘I confess, I have been having thoughts about… my position- I do not believe I will be able to lend my services to you much longer.’ 

When he did not respond, you turned to look at him. He was staring straight at you from a distance, much like a large feline observes its prey. You swallowed heavily, words suddenly just tumbling out. 

‘I- I cannot do it anymore, I withdraw my service, and, and-’

You let your eyes fall shut.

‘-and I will accept the consequences.’

When still he did not respond, you sighed dejectedly. There was apparently nothing left to say.

You turned to leave, when suddenly a hand grabbed hold of your wrist and spun you around so hard that you would have been thrown off balance by the motion, had he not quickly shoved you so far backwards that your shoulders hit the stone pillar behind you. He crowded into your space and domineeringly pushed against you, staring down into your startled face imperiously, eyes narrowed into slits.

His voice came out in an icy whisper: ‘And what makes you think, that I cannot simply...  _make use_ ofyour services?’

The unspoken threat and the re-encompassing of your wrist in his steely grip sent a hot blade of desire through your body and you involuntarily let out a sound of pleasure.

He drank in that tiny whimper of a moan. And rather than releasing you, his punishing grip only tightened as you were pinned between his freakishly strong body and the stone behind you.

 _This is dangerous! Get out while you can,_ whispered a little voice in your head. You ignored it and shook it instead.

The King however mistook this as a sign of denial to his previous inquiry.

‘No?...' he breathed silkily. 'I am your _king._ I would have you begging for mercy in an instant.’

Your breath hitched as he drew impossibly closer, tracing the nail of his index finger against your throat. You were all but overcome by the effects of your taboo desire. He was now so close, you could count his every eyelash.

‘Oh?’ exclaimed he in mock surprise. ‘Could it be that that is perhaps exactly what you desire?’

‘Don’t-’ you croaked, but without warning the king lowered his crowned head, and you nearly passed out as you felt a dangerous mixture of teeth and lips sucking a love-bite into the soft skin of your neck.

‘Ah! My lord-‘ you gasped, able to do nothing but curl your fingers into his cloak.

‘ _Dîn_ ,’ he growled into your ear. He had both of your arms now pinned above your head, easily holding them in place with one hand alone. He did not relinquish his assault on your neck, and you shivered violently when his breath traced the sensitive skin of your ear.

‘I see the way you look at me, so unabashedly staring when I command my guard. As if you were begging me to assert my control over you as well, little elf.’

‘And believe me,’ he continued, grazing his teeth up towards the pointy end of your ear, ‘how close I have been to forcibly inhibiting that filthy behaviour of yours. Now do not dare protest,’ he hissed, and suddenly his hand was around your waist, bending you back to further expose you to him. ‘I know that deep down you want my body on top of yours, skirts up to your knees, your legs around my hips,…’ his baritone choked off with a snarl that came from deep in his chest.

Staving off the pitiless assault of his mouth, he now looked down in satisfaction at the glistening bruises of crimson and purple that marred your white neck. You could do naught but hold on to his shoulders, shaking with pleasure. Your core was throbbing, you felt your arousal seep down your legs.

‘My lord-‘

He interrupted you with a heated look before correcting you: ‘Thranduil’

Your green eyes widened in shock as they peered into his usually grey, now liquid silver ones.

‘Now, do not be shy. My name will be echoing of the palace walls soon enough…’

 You moaned at the insinuation, or prediction, or perhaps promise?

‘You better remember it.’

Wanting nothing more, yet also refusing to simply melt into his arms like a blushing maiden, you wrenched your arms free, slinging one around his shoulders. With the other you grasped his silky hair, pulling him down to your height.

Thranduil emitted a guttural sound, something in between a hiss and a groan. His eyelids fluttered minutely with pleasure, yet his gaze did not leave your face.

You both grew very still as you searched in each other’s emotions.

Perhaps finding what he had been looking for, the King leaned forward an infinitesimally small space, but you found yourself responding in kind as his cool breath fanned across your mouth.

You waited and waited but he did not move to breach the distance, that hateful, tiny sliver of air between you. 

So you kissed the King.

This surprised you both. His lips were cool and soft but firm at once, and he yielded to you, sinking down to grant better access- which you immediately took advantage of, carding your hands into those beautiful, blonde strands of hair possessively, to hold him in place. You made a soft sound, without interrupting the slick slide of lips. He took your hips into his hands.

As you stood weak-kneed on the balcony, unable to oppress his needy mouth, your covetous hands, your heart beat out the mortifying truth. You desired King Thranduil, Lord and Ruler of the Woodland Realm. Not as all the other ellyth did, you _really_ desired him. You desired him so much, that you were ready to wave all the old elvish traditions out the window and…

You broke for air. Urgently, Thranduil’s mouth roved across the your cheeks and jaw, peppering your porcelain cheeks with desperate kisses. He was surprisingly indulgent in the face of your passion, parting his lips in invitation when you returned to them.

In truth, Lord Thranduil was beguiled by your advances, absolutely enchanted. He slid his hands down your torso, grabbing handfuls of silver fabric and flesh, squeezing just shy of too firm, a hint of devastating strength dormant in his elegant fingers.

He came back up to reciprocally tangle his fingers in your red hair and lick the seam of your plush lips until you opened to him and your tongues met. His lips were softer than those of anyone you had ever kissed, and perhaps in spite of the obvious experience of the gesture, it heated your blood.  _He has done this often before._

Thranduil’s kiss was the rumbling thunder of an impending snow storm.

Your kiss was turning sloppy with mutual desire; you drew back for air. You ached for wanting.

‘My lord-’ you whispered against his lips, forehead pressed to his, noses brushing. Overcome with feeling, you did again what came naturally in such a moment- you reached out to share your emotions.

The heat you felt coming off of the king nearly smouldered you. Your felt just how wet your thighs were when you clenched them together in response to the sheer intensity with which you realised he must be holding himself back.

You groaned in unison as each basked in the lust of the other.

‘ _Mecin, aran nîn_ ,’ you whispered as you felt his fists tighten in your hair.

‘ _Mecin, hîr Thranduil-nîn_.’ You were begging now, you needed him so much it almost hurt. His hand had found its way beneath your skirts, insistently running up the quivering limb.

‘ _Mecin,_ _Melethron-nîn_ ,’ you gasped in ecstasy as it found the generous swell of your arse.

At your words, he abruptly, _agonisingly_  stilled his movements. His eyes widened and he actually flinched in a way he had not when you had dived to kiss him.

He did not pull away, but also did not resume his ministrations to your body.

 _Melethron-nîn…_ why by the Valar had you let that escape you? You supposed as elves released their… carnal desires the first time when consummating their marriage and you indeed were yet a maiden, your lust-ridden brain had equated this to be your first-time love making with your betrothed. Which it almost was. Without the actual marriage part.

When the King next spoke, his voice was just shy of shaky.

‘I need to make this absolutely clear. In order to avoid misunderstandings, you understand.’

He spoke softly, but his tone commanded your full attention:

‘I can never truly love you.’


	8. Desire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things get hot and heavy...

_Ídhra- I desire_

_Dangwethen- answer me_

_Ha darn thulen - it takes away my breath,_

_Miluis- Lovely one_

_Aran- nîn - my king_

_hîr nîn- my lord_

_leithio nîn – release me!_

_Mecin, aran nîn- please, my king_

_Man i eneth nîn- what is my name?_

_Pedo eneth nîn- say my name_

_Pedo ed- say it_

_mecin, mecin, leithio nîn- please, please, release me!_

_Listener, Green brother -_ Lastedir, Calethor

 

 

There was a faint sort of ringing in your ears, as if something loud had suddenly ceased making noise.

 

He would never love you… _could_ never love you.

 

The previously heated air now felt chilly on your skin, and you withdrew your arms from the king’s shoulders to wrap them gingerly around yourself. Cold disappointment engulfed you.

 

Thranduil however did not relinquish his hold on you, ducking his head to gaze at your face.

 

‘I could not… not like an Ellyn deserves,’ he murmured, reaching up to twist a red strand of hair reverently between his fingers.

 

You knew that that was not the only thing holding him back- there must have been a thousand elven traditions and customs, and perhaps even laws you would be breaking. In terms of pure technicality, the intimate joining of two elves for their first time was on the night of consummation, the king very obviously having experienced it before. Yet… you could not quell the desire that burned in your chests- you wanted him, and he furiously desired you.

 

You moved yet to draw back again, and again the king hindered you. With a flurry of his robes he grabbed your hand, guiding it beneath his robes and closing atop it over a bulge that made you swallow hard, as thoughts of _that_ splicing your core made you dizzy.

 

‘ _Alae_ \- behold,’ he growled, ‘what you do to me. Do not misunderstand,’ you felt him pulse hotly beneath your hand, ‘I desire you greatly. When I bed you, we will be joined not only in _rhonn_ \- body, but also as it always is, in _faer_ \- spirit. You will ache for me, and I will soothe the strain.’

 

Thranduil’s voice rumbled breathily against your ear as you began to feel him through the fabric. He inhaled sharply. ‘I know I will yearn for you.’

 

You flushed with pleasure.

 

‘But you must know, this is against the natural order. I cannot give myself to-‘

 

He broke off, searching your eyes as if he had just realized something significant.

 

‘Have you been wed before?’

 

Oh dear, there it was. His gaze was fixed on you intently this moment- already knowing, yet still expecting your answer. You opened your mouth to speak, and you found yourself shaking your head. ‘N-no, my lord, I have not.’

 

His eyes narrowed, then he spent several long moments letting his gaze roam over you, from head to your toe. The silver gown you were wearing left little to the imagination where the moonlight hit it- you were a vision, ethereally glowing.

 

The corner of his mouth twitched upwards when he finished, returning to peer into your eyes.

 

‘An untouched maiden… my, my, I should have known.’

 

Suddenly he pulled you into his arms, forcing you once again to hold on tightly to his magnificent frame as your feet left the floor.

 

‘Foolish _Ellyn_ \- do you truly believe you can defy your own nature? What, pray tell happens once you fall in love with me? _*Dangwethen_!’

 

You looked down as your cheeks burned with embarrassed, feeling utterly exposed, trembling as the lump in your throat prevented any sound from escaping, when slow understanding shone in the King’s eyes.

 

‘Ah- perhaps it is already too late for you…?’

 

His hushed tones struck a chord within you, and you defiantly raised your chin to meet his stone-gray eyes.

 

‘I do not ask of you to love me; I do not anticipate it either. I simply want… _ídhra_ …-‘

 

He did not let you finish your sentence. With the undulating voracity of the crashing ocean, his lips sought out and caught yours in a bruising kiss. Thousand-year-old experience of ages past were tasteable in his actions, there was desire of ages hence, and there was a sense of testing too. The kiss grew hard as you whimpered, the king clearly demanding submission, before lightening into a gentle tease, a coaxing of his mouth onto yours. His tongue ran along your lips, brushing past, searching to twine his with yours, teasing it, tempting it to follow his movements. The intoxicating taste of wine and spice went straight to your head and you felt drunk, drunk on lust and the liquid heat that pooled in your core, threatening to overspill at the next caress or whispered promise.

 

You moaned in helpless surrender, as his tongue slid in and out of your mouth in so explicit a cadence you felt like your very bones were melting. He recognized your capitulation within a heartbeat. His tongue ceased to be a plunderer and became a lover, stroking your mouth to ecstasy, affecting your body in more places than one as you tightened your hold when your legs nearly gave way beneath you.

 

A deep chuckle reverberated from within Thranduil’s throat, albeit hoarse with pleasure when he felt the pull of your hands, small upon his strong arms.

 

‘Do not worry, _tithen pen_ , we are far from finished here.’

 

You groaned loudly at the dark promise.

 

‘ _Ú-_ no, _aran nîn_ , I- I do not wish to faint.’

 

The king mouthed a blazing hot trail from your collarbone to your sensitive earlobe, teeth pulling at the taut flesh of your neck, eliciting a melody of pained-pleasured sounds from your lips.

 

‘I promise you, you would be loathe to miss what I have planned for you.’

 

You shuddered as a hand travelled back up your dress from your waist to the fabric covering your breast, whimpering when you felt his heat through the shimmery material. The icy gray of his eyes had thawed, replaced by a white-blue blaze as he watched the tips of his fingers stroke the silver waves of silk, cool upon your burning skin. Your blood thrummed heavily through your veins, setting bumps across your flesh, and you keened against the king. This elicited a show of pearly white teeth as he grinned, wickedly enticed by your show of submission. The King, whose touch had turned into a possessive squeeze, revelled in the way the buds of your breasts grew visibly hard against the soft barrier that separated his skin from yours. Your chest heaved with every torturous breath you took, finding no release from the way your sleeves fell from your shoulders as the king’s fingers delicately worked to unclasp the silver hooks of your tunic, exposing your glimmering skin to the moonlight.

After spending a moment to marvel at the snowy expanse of flesh displayed deliciously before him, he dove down, hungry mouth searching what his hands had pleasurably discovered. You arched impossible closer into Thranduil when his mouth closed upon your bare breasts.

 

The darkened courtyard was filled only by the highly feminine whimpers of pleasure that the king drew from your mouth- when he sucked your rosy bud between his teeth, when he made the other ache between his gently twisting fingers, when his lips did not even for a second cease the reverent suckling on the tortured peaks, reddened and glistening wet in the moonlight.

 

You slid your fingers into his beautiful hair, needing something to hold on to, desperately mindful of the silver crown perched atop the silvery strands.

 

His voice came out in a harsh growl.

 

‘Your taste… _Ha darn thulen.’_

With a swiftness you would later on not be able to recall, the pinned you up against the wall behind you, your thighs spread wantonly to cradle his pushing, urging body. A gasp escaped your lips as the cool air made you aware of the wetness between your thighs and the stick of your slip against the swell of your arse. His arousal was undeniable, pressing insistently up against your quivering form.

 

‘ _A…,_ _Miluis’_

It was a decadent picture of the most illicit pleasure, glorious in the shelter of the darkest part of night.

 

You were hoisted up so your chest was on eye-level to him, spread out like a buffet of frosty, sugar-coated treats and juicy, wine-red fruit.

 

‘ _Aran-nin,_ ’ you gasped, but were cut short by the king touching his fingers to your lips and turning his head away in concentration. You too froze, as your elven ears picked up the sound of distant, lithe footsteps, coming ever closer.

 

‘ _Mecin, aran nîn,’_ you begged, slipping readily into Sindarin, ‘ _hîr nîn-‘_

_‘Man i eneth nîn?’_ he growled into your ear, ‘ _Pedo eneth nîn!’_

_‘Hîr nîn-’_ you whimpered in desperation as you felt a dark bruise being sucked onto your collarbone. ‘

 

‘ _Pedo ed!’_

 

His name fell from your lips like a cry.

 

‘ _Thranduil! Thranduil, mecin, mecin, leithio nîn…’_

You were torn- you could not move, yet you were desperate to avoid a court scandal at all cost.

 

The King however seemed to be in no rush, in fact he almost reverently pressed a surprisingly chaste kiss to your forehead before delicately rearranging the bodice of your dress. You inhaled sharply when you saw the color his eyes had changed into- they were glowing with the same, pure light that the moon exudes to brighten the dark.

 

A whisper of some ancient language, perhaps an incantation reached your ears and you felt your skin tingle.

 

Then, with a flourish of his great cloak, the King pushed you behind his body, drawing himself up to full height.

 

The footsteps now echoed around the corner, and suddenly two of the king’s advisor’s came into view. Your heart beat painfully against your ribs. While you were glad of the King’s protective actions, you doubted that the two members of the king’s elite court would be fooled into believing you were not there. Surely Thranduil thought so too?

 

‘My- my lord,’ said the one, surprise clear in his voice. You listened with bated breath as you heard cloaks rustle as the two elves bowed respectfully.

 

‘We were looking for your majesty, yet we did not think to find your majesty out here, by himself.’

 

By himself? You could clearly see about three quarters of both elves, how by the Valhar had they not noticed you?

 

The other elf chimed in. ‘We heard voices, _hîr nîn._ Have we interrupted anything?’

 

He shifted as if to look behind the king. You were about to be discovered!

 

‘I was thinking aloud to myself,’ Thranduil answered, voice so sure you could not help but admire him. You still had goosebumps all over your body from your rendezvous. As you looked down to inspect your arms, you were met with another surprise- what was supposed to be made of skin and bone now flowed translucently, a watery outline of what used to be your hands!

 

‘What by the Lords…’ you muttered under your breath, only covered by the King resuming his speech.

 

‘Lastedir, Calethor, how may I be of assistance?’

 

‘Tauriel and Oldaer have sent a messenger back, my lord.’

 

‘…and?’

 

‘And he brings with him news of strangers within the forest.’

 

You saw the royal brow knit in suspicion.

 

‘Pray tell, what kind of strangers?’

 

The ellon bearing the name Lastedir snickered as much as royal decorum allowed for. ‘My lord, it seems to be a company of dwarves.’

 

‘Dwarves?’

 

If you had not been spending so much time in Thranduil’s company recently, you would have missed the slight annoyance tinging the seemingly indifferent inquiry.

 

‘Indeed, my Lord. A company of thirteen heads. And…,’ the elf lowered his voice and stepped closer, his face mere inches from yours as he leaned in to murmur into the king’s ear, (you held your breath), ‘their leader was identified as…,’ you felt his breath on your face.

 

‘…Thorin Oakenshield.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally done with exams, will upgrade more frequently now that uni stress has calmed down, I promise :)


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